


The Absolutely True Story of a Possessed Grey Warden Corpse

by TimeSorceror



Series: Keep You Safe [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anders Positive, Definitely in the Pre-Fenders territory now, Everyone Has Issues, Gen, Happy Anders (Dragon Age), Justice Positive, Pre Fenders, This is mostly just an excuse to write my Warden interacting with Fenris, and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10046129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeSorceror/pseuds/TimeSorceror
Summary: Warden Commander Rashia Amell, having temporarily settled in Kirkwall, makes a few house calls, stirs up some trouble, and regales a broody elf with a tale about a haunted swamp, some talking darkspawn, and the blood mage Baroness that started the whole mess in the first place.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as: Fenris learns about how Justice came to possess the body of a dead Grey Warden (and a live one); straight from the source. Also, that he has feels for a certain blonde mage. Tiny little baby feels.
> 
> I don't think he knows that baby feels eventually grow up and become adults if you give them food and shelter, lol. ;)

Fenris was staring at the roughshod tiles of the Gallows market, leaning against a particular pillar that allowed him to see all of the market proper along with Solivitus’ stall, which Hawke was currently perusing for some cheap tonics.

Fenris knew that, with her new connections as a restored noble in the city, she could procure enough materials to make the potions herself, but she was still that Fereldan refugee who’d spent a year and a half living in Lowtown, pinching coppers at every corner she could, and he wouldn’t fault her for looking at every stall they passed to see if they had some extra healing potions on the cheap. He often did it himself, since he couldn’t stand the touch of a healer, mundane or otherwise, and tended to his wounds in private.

Across the way, he spotted the other two members of their group, Isabela and Merrill, gathered at the weapons stalls near the exit to the docks. He almost wished he could say he was glad that someone was watching over the careless blood mage, though he found it troublesome to admit, even to himself.

“Hey, I’m ready.” Hawke’s voice sounded from nearby, and he turned at her approach. “Yes, my friend?” She smiled at him, always happy to hear him call her friend. Once, he thought he might like to be more than that… until he heard from Isabela that her sights seemed set on the blood mage. A threesome with Merrill and Isabela was also implied, but he tried not to think about it much.

She handed him two potions. “A couple of extras for the trouble? I hadn’t intended to make this a shopping trip, but then I realized how few I had when I came to drop off the Harlot’s Blush, and, well…”

He took the vials and carefully stowed them in an empty belt pocket.

“It’s no trouble, Hawke.” She laughed, and the sound of it made him smile, until she paused mid laugh to stare at something in the courtyard. 

“Well, _that_ looks like it could be trouble. What’s Rashia doing here?”

He turned to follow her gaze, only to find Hawke’s cousin, Rashia Amell, having a very heated discussion with the blonde Knight-Captain, Cullen. He frowned. What _was_ she doing here? 

He motioned Hawke to follow him closer to see if they could glean the contents of their conversation, which both participants were trying very hard to keep to themselves, though it was rather difficult. After all, it wasn’t every day that you saw the Knight-Captain absorbed in what looked like an argument with a Grey Warden. And a Warden Commander at that, since Rashia’s armor had more distinctive decorations than the uniform he knew she’d given Anders. He wondered if the few non-Tranquil mages who occupied some of the market stalls could tell that the woman was one of their own.

Because even though she wore a heavily enchanted great-sword on her back, Rashia Amell was still very much a mage.

 

* * *

Rashia pursed her lips and tried very hard not to run her fingers through her hair, again. Too many times she’d ruined her neatly combed buns that way, and today had been a good, successful binding that she didn’t want to waste on a frustrated templar. Even if it was Cullen.

“Well, if your commander is so very busy, Knight-Captain, I request that you have the Commander’s Tranquil assistant bring out her schedule and find a suitable meeting time. I have other places to be.” And, before he could protest, she glared at him hotly and added, “And don’t tell me the Commander doesn’t have an assistant. I know she does. Knight-Commander Greagoir did. This one’s name is… Elsa, correct?”

“Um, well… yes, you’re correct, but I’m afraid I still can’t just–!”  
  
“Knight. Captain.” Rashia hissed through gritted teeth. “I will have an appointment scheduled before I leave today or else!”

Maker. Why had she ever fancied this man?

“The Knight Commander’s assistant,” she demanded. “ _Now_ , Knight-Captain!” Rashia folded her arms across her chest. Cullen met and held her stare for longer than most people normally did until –finally– he wavered underneath the intensity of her gaze.

“You… alright. Fine. If only because we’re starting to draw attention.” 

He jerked his head in a particular direction, and Rashia glanced over to see her cousin standing with the white-haired elf, Fenris. The two of them were being joined by the pirate, Isabela, and another dark haired elf that Rashia didn’t recognize. The four of them were all staring. Discreetly, but still staring. 

The rest of the Gallows Courtyard was not staring so discreetly. 

“Shall we move this inside, then?” Rashia asked quietly, raising one eyebrow at him. “Or shall I wait outside like an unwanted guest?”

Cullen merely frowned at her, his stern gaze narrowing slightly.

“I shall go fetch the Knight-Commander’s assistant so you may schedule your appointment,” he sighed, somehow managing to come off as both curt and morose in the same breath. Rashia didn’t really care if she was let in or not, so she watched as he turned around and she said to him as he walked off, “If you’re not back by the first afternoon bell, I’m coming in after you.”

There was, predictably, no response.

“Oh Cullen,” she murmured to herself once he was out of sight, “this world has not been kind to you, has it?”

Much as she knew neither of them would like it, she resolved to talk to him later about what he’d suffered at Kinloch. Maker knew that man hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, and he needed to. Especially when he’d been assigned to here, of all places. 

“Rough morning?” Asked a voice from behind her.

Her cousin Marian and today’s motley crew of two elves and a pirate had finally wandered over to talk to her once Cullen had disappeared inside.

She turned, folding her arms against the small of her back as she exhaled shortly. “You could say that, yes. I came to speak to the Knight Commander about Anders’ clinic, but apparently I can’t meet with her without an appointment.” She made a face as though she’d caught wind of a particularly foul odor. “I had hoped that having known the Knight-Captain from Kinloch would help… but I suppose not. Still, I got him to fetch the Knight-Commander’s assistant, so I’ll be able to schedule that appointment after all…”

“… for Anders’ clinic?” The dark-haired elf piped. “Whatever for? Oh, I’m Merrill, by the way.” 

Cheery, was the elf. Dalish, too, from the markings on her face that Rashia had learned were called vallaslin. And a blood mage as well, if the scent of her magic was anything to go by. Rashia raised an eyebrow, wanting to question her about it, but decided against it considering where they were. Glancing at her cousin, Rashia supposed the only reason she was still wandering free here was because of Marian’s interference… or influence. 

She had yet to figure out which it was, or if it was some combination of both.

“Rashia Amell,” she offered politely in return. “And it is because I wish to secure the safety of one of my Wardens before I have to leave Kirkwall. Much as I wish I could stay to keep him safe, I have duties elsewhere. Speaking to the Knight-Commander is the quickest way to do that, as I doubt my usual… negotiation tactics would work on the Grand Cleric.”

“The Grand Cleric?” Marian frowned. “What’s _she_ got to do with all this?”

“The Knight-Commander reports to her,” Rashia answered bluntly. “But that doesn’t mean that she tells the Knight-Commander what to do. The Chantry controls the Templars’ supply of lyrium, and if the Templars don’t toe the line, then that supply can shrink or get cut off entirely.”

“How do you know this?” Fenris asked her pointedly. The tone of his question was more curious than caustic, however. 

“Anders and Justice would sometimes chat whenever we were trekking across the arling. Usually it was about such oddities as the concept of pets as slaves or what the purpose of certain bodily fluids were for, but sometimes they were about more weighty things like the Circle and just about anything related to it.” 

“Huh,” Marian huffed. “Even when I can get him to chat like that on missions he’s rarely so forthcoming.”

Rashia shrugged. “He was a very different man then. Loud, lewd, and not ashamed of much. Well. In front of the others, anyway. But even the man that I knew then was different from the boy I grew up with in Kinloch. His time in solitary left… scars. Not all of them visible ones. I assume that what happened to instigate his leaving the Vigil was similarly life changing.”

Fenris was staring at her with what she thought was a mildly shocked expression. “Do you mean… solitary confinement? For… for how long?”  
  
Huh. Was that concern in the elf’s voice? 

Rashia frowned. “Yes. However, as his friend I fear I have said too much. If you wish to know, I might suggest… I don’t know, bringing him something to eat for his trouble. Karl used to make these sweet Orlesian cakes as a hobby… madeleines? Anders liked them a lot. There is a shop in Hightown that sells some, I think.” Rashia made a point of meeting Fenris’ eyes, which narrowed as her lips quirked up with private amusement.

“That poor man doesn’t eat enough,” Merrill lamented. “I think his spirit drives him too hard.” Rashia nodded. “I’ve been meaning to speak to Justice about that. They always seemed to trust my judgement before… perhaps they will now?” She shrugged. 

“You make it sound as though his spirit was a separate entity,” Merrill mused. “That’s not possible, is it?”

“Not normally, no. But Justice was… a special case.”

She was about to go into the story of the Blackmarsh and what they’d discovered there, but then she heard Cullen calling for her from the top of the courtyard steps, a Tranquil mage standing beside him and she waved at them to signal that she’d heard before turning back to the group.

“A story for another time, perhaps. Say, are you still playing Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man this evening?”

“We never miss it, sweet thing,” Isabela purred.

“Do you still cheat as badly as you used to?”

“You bet I do.”

Rashia chuckled. “Well, I think if I can wrap up this mess before sundown I might be able to drag Anders away from his work long enough to come join you all. Some fresh air will do that man some good… even if it’s only Lowtown air.”

She grinned and bid them goodbye before turning around to follow Cullen, and she could feel the weight of Fenris stare on her even after she’d left his sight.

 

* * *

It was fortunate that the clinic wasn’t busy that evening, and therefore it hadn’t taken much convincing to drag Anders to the Hanged Man for a few rounds of cards, though the walk there wasn’t without complaints.

“I don’t like losing,” Anders groused, throwing Rashia a quivering upper lip for good measure. “I can’t even drink because Justice won’t let me…” He trailed off, watching Ser Pounce-a-lot prance ahead of them with confidence. 

Rashia’s footsteps paused briefly as they exited Darktown and she turned to frown at him. “Justice,” she began, addressing the spirit directly, “it won’t kill you to let Anders indulge every once in a while. And, no– don’t give me that mess about it being a distraction! It…” 

She sighed, shaking her head sharply. 

“It’s good to take breaks. Mortal bodies have limits, and so do mortal minds. Occasional indulgences can sometimes be as crucial to mental health as food and drink are to our physical, alright?”

Flecks of blue light shimmered in Anders’ eyes, and Rashia waited patiently for Anders’ response.

“I… I think he understands.” Anders frowned, likely trying to discern the spirit’s meaning from the emotional impressions that he’d confided were their only means of communication. Rashia sighed with relief. “I’m not trying to scold either of you… I’m just–”

Anders waved her off with a smile. 

“Concerned. Now _that_ Justice understands. We’re both grateful. Thank you, Rashia.” He offered her his arm and she took it gratefully as they started walking towards the Hanged Man again.

“So… what’s this bullshit about you being a terrible card player? You certainly weren’t when you played with us at Vigil’s Keep. This isn’t a Justice thing too, is it?” Anders chuckled sheepishly and glanced away. “Um… well. I won’t lie to you and say that it isn’t…”

Rashia grumbled. 

“Can… can I ask why? Is it because it’s a game of deception and deception is… unjust?” Anders nodded. “I think that’s partly it. And because I know that, I know that the others are probably also cheating, though perhaps not Merrill… she still has trouble remembering what face cards do what…”

Rashia chuffed. “Or maybe she’s got you all fooled and she’s actually a really decent player. After all,” she added, her nose wrinkling a little, “no blood mage who isn’t an abomination is a stupid one. Well. Unless you’re Jowan. But he was also stupidly _lucky_ , so… perhaps it’s best not to count him.” 

Anders snorted.

“I suppose I can’t argue with you there. On either point.” They stopped again just outside of the Hanged Man, and Anders sighed wistfully.

“I do miss playing cards the way I used to… I mean, it’s not like I try to cheat my patients out of good care or cut corners with my health potions. It’s just cards, you know?”

“And does Justice understand that?”

She waited a couple heartbeats before Anders nodded again. 

“Yes, I think he understands now.” His lips quirked up in a crooked half smile that actually managed to reach his eyes this time. “He’s still not happy about the fact that there’s cheating going on, but… he understands.” 

He laughed, and there was a giddy sort of anxiousness that vibrated through him as he gently bounced on the balls of his feet. 

“I’m… I’m actually looking forward tonight! A few drinks, a couple rounds of cards…”

“… and a few bowls of stew,” Rashia added. “And don’t you try to refuse me,” –she told him sternly with a wagging finger as they entered the tavern, Ser Pounce weaving happily through their legs– “you’re a Warden and you know how much we need to eat to stay healthy, alright? I want to see you get some meat on those bones again before I leave.”

“When is that, by the way?” Anders asked worriedly. 

Rashia merely smiled and gently squeezed his arm. “Whenever I can assure your safety. I’m not taking any chances this time. Don’t you fret.” She could feel more than hear the deep sigh of relief as a little of the tension he carried with him fell from his shoulders.

“I… I’ll try to. Thank you, Rashia.”

By way of a response, she gently leaned against him, knowing that the close contact had always reassured him better than any words ever could. And indeed they entered Varric’s room with him laughing and smiling as they took their seats in between Fenris and Isabela. Rashia was to Anders’ left, with the elf on hers. Already Isabela was trying to place herself half on Anders’ lap and he kept insisting that she needed to get a few drinks in him first.

“Oh? Is Ser Stick-in-the-Mud going to let you drink tonight?” she asked, running a hand up and down his right arm.

“Please don’t call him that,” Anders and Rashia replied in unison. 

Anders flushed and Rashia just shook her head as she pulled a flask of a clear, bluish liquid from her pack, earning a whistle from Varric at the head of the table to Fenris’ left.

“Is that Aqua Magus?” he asked her, to which Rashia nodded.

“Yes. It is a favorite of mine and I rarely go anywhere without some.” 

“That looks like high quality stuff. How’d you come by it?” 

She shrugged, pulling out two small glasses and filling them about three quarters of the way with the stuff. “The same way most people come by high quality things…” she began, winking at the dwarf, “I nicked it off of some idiot who tried to kill me and didn’t have the sense to turn tail and run when I gave him the chance.”

Varric snorted and chuckled, slapping the table with one hand.

“Ain’t that the truth?”

She flashed Varric a wicked grin. “Sometimes I do have to actually purchase a bottle or two when I can’t come across another idiot who has some on their person, but it’s not like I use my personal funds for much else.” She corked the flask and handed one of the small glasses to Anders.

“I remember you liking this quite a bit as well,” to which Anders responded, “Yes, I believe I did. But, ah… I also remember that we didn’t usually drink this with other people present.”

“What,” Isabela prodded him, “was there usually a lack of clothing involved afterwards?” 

Anders and Rashia shared a look, and for a moment there was _absolute silence_.

“No way!” Isabela half cackled, half shrieked, curling over in her laughter. “I was kidding, but I didn’t think you actually…” She snorted and lightly punched him in the arm she’d been caressing. “You slept with your commander, you dog!”

“To be fair,” he muttered as he tried to sip his drink in peace, “I think the first time was more that _she_ slept with _me_ …”

“You _kissed_ me first,” Rashia reminded him smugly.

“ _You_ were making eyes at me for weeks.”

“Only because I walked in on you that one time in just your breeches. Who _wouldn’t_ stare after that?”

“I… um…”

“Oh, this is just too good,” Isabela snickered, and it was at this point that Marian arrived with Merrill, a redheaded woman that Rashia recognized as the captain of the guard, and a young man that Rashia thought she’d seen wearing Chantry robes at service this morning.

“Sorry we’re late!” Marian called out, just as Merrill was muttering, “… what’s just too good?”

“Nothing, Kitten,” Isabela replied as she patted the seat next to her. Merrill slid into the seat obediently, while another man that Rashia didn’t recognize followed the guardswoman into the room. The familiar looking archer sat next to Varric, and the man sat next to him with the guardswoman. Marian took up the other head of the table and grinned goofily at Varric after ordering a pint of ale.

“I think that’s everyone! Deal us in, friend.” 

Varric made a dimissive noise in the back of his throat, but he was grinning as he shook his head and began shuffling. 

“Why do you purchase some of the stuff that Corff brews? You know Blondie uses that swill as a disinfectant for his clinic tables, right?” 

Rashia looked sharply at Anders.

“That’s what that is? What does he do, donate them? You have at least an entire barrel of the stuff in the back room.”

Anders merely shrugged and took a sip of his drink while the serving girl came back with Hawke’s ale. Rashia caught her before she left and ordered six bowls of stew. “He doesn’t actually _sell_ that stuff to his customers… I think. Though I don’t usually drink, so I wouldn’t know. Still, I think the fact that Marian hasn’t come to me complaining of alcohol poisoning is a good sign.” Marian smirked, holding up her mug after taking a long swig. “Yup! I concur. Also, Varric, I drink it because it’s cheap and I like the atmosphere.” 

“I think you mean the aesthetic…?” Merrill piped, and Marian pointed to her, winking and making the poor elf blush. “Ah, that’s right! Thanks, Merrill.”

That was when Marian noticed what Anders was drinking.

“Say, Anders, are you _drinking_?”

All heads at the table turned to Anders, who was still nursing that first shot of Aqua Magus. “Um… yes. Rashia convinced Justice that the occasional indulgence isn’t a terrible thing. Though, the lyrium in this stuff probably helps a little.”

“There’s lyrium in that?” That was Fenris, voice low and level in Rashia’s ear. No one else seemed to have heard except Varric, the familiar-looking man, and herself. She turned to him and nodded. “Yes,” she whispered back, “Though it’s even more finely distilled than the stuff that mages use to refill their mana wells in a pinch, and it’s not a whole lot. It’s meant for public consumption, after all. Well, those of the public who can afford it. Or afford to steal it. Whichever works.”

The man across from her tried and failed to cover up a snicker.

“You can laugh, you know,” Rashia teased him. “I’m only a Warden, not a wolf. I don’t bite…”

“…unless you have a great ass,” Anders said idly as the bowls of stew were placed in front of Rashia and himself. “Then there might be some biting involved,” he added.

“Oh, is that another thing you did with your commander all those years ago?” Isabela drawled, prodding Anders gently in the arm.  He merely rolled his eyes and returned to quickly consuming his bowls of stew while the young man across from Rashia stared wide-eyed in his direction.

“Close your mouth, Choir Boy,” Varric chuckled, handing him the shuffled deck of cards. “Deal us in, why don’t you?” 

“Choir Boy?” Rashia asked after swallowing a mouthful of her own stew. “So that _was_ you at service this morning?” She grinned at him, and the flush on the man’s face deepened as he dealt the cards. “Do you have an actual name or will I have to call you that the entire night?”

The man cleared his throat as he finished dealing and every one picked up their cards. “’m name’s Sebastian,” he replied, his voice a light, rolling brogue that Rashia didn’t recognize. “Sebastian Vael.”

Vael. Rashia knew that name. 

She’d read enough of Brother Genitivi’s travelogues to know what that name meant. She raised a curious eyebrow at him. 

“I see. And I’m Warden Commander Rashia Amell, Marian’s cousin and Anders’ commanding officer.” She jerked her head in Anders’ direction before continuing with, “So… how does someone like you end up as a Chantry brother?”

“Excuse me?” Sebastian asked, a baffled expression on his face. 

Rashia merely offered him another raised eyebrow. “I’ve read Brother Genitivi’s travelogues. I know what that name means. I’m merely curious what someone like you is doing in a Chantry.” She paused for a moment, thinking back to the morning services. “…though, strangely, you seem to belong there. Or you belong to the idea of the Chant but not the Chantry, if that makes any sense.”

“A little,” Sebastian offered, looking at his cards. Rashia glanced at hers, a pair of knights of wisdom, some serpents of sadness… another knight –a rose one this time– and a few others. Not a terrible hand, but she wasn’t about to bet coin on it. Not with Isabela playing. 

She glanced at Anders, but he’d put his cards down and was focusing on his second bowl of soup, practically trying to inhale it before the third one got cold. 

“So…” Sebastian’s voice drew her from her reverie, and her gaze focused on him. He startled a bit when she looked up sharply, and Rashia couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yes? What is it?”

“Are you a strict member of the faith?” he asked her. She made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat. 

“That’s an awfully personal question… but I suppose fair is fair…” 

Rashia shrugged.

“The Southern Chantry has never been very kind to mages, but as far as faith goes it is the only thing I’ve ever known. Personally, I found the Chant to be a source of great strength during my years in the Ferelden Circle at Kinloch, but the services were rarely enjoyable because the sermons the Circle sisters gave were usually about how we were all sins against the Maker and the world and that we deserved to suffer for all of eternity in the Void.”

Silence reigned across the table again, and this time is was Rashia’s turn to blush as she leaned back and cleared her throat to break the awkward quiet.

"Apologies,” she offered the group, and then she added as she fixed Sebastian with a level stare, “but I think this conversation should be held at a later date? Wicked Grace is for getting drunk in good company and trying not to lose your coin, not discussing such weighty topics like faith, yes?” Sebastian inclined his head in an apology of his own.

“Yes, I didn’t mean to cause such a stir… though, you said you were part of a Circle? I don’t see you carrying around a staff…”

She raised another curious eyebrow at him, deciding to keep her current card suits and the knight of roses and see if she got anything better to add to her hand. “This is Kirkwall. The second largest Templar stronghold is stationed here in the Gallows; I’d be mad to be a mage carrying a staff in this city, whether it could pass for an actual walking stick or not.”

She eyed Anders, who froze in mid swig of the last of his soup, and glanced at Merrill down the way. “How the two of you manage to not get caught is beyond me…” Anders sighed as he put down the bowl and began stacking the empty ones up in the middle of the table.

“I don’t know about Merrill,” he muttered lightly, “but I suppose there is _one_ thing I share with our mutual friend Jowan.”

“Being stupidly lucky?” Rashia supplied, unable to keep the grin from her face.

“Yes, that. I suppose I could always try that thing that you do… supplementing your strength with magic, though that might make me look even odder than I already do.”

Rashia hummed in agreement.

“Yes, the tall, skinny beanpole healer from the sewer who has up until now been seen carrying a "walking stick” for his protection suddenly starts dragging around a great-sword nearly half his height instead, though he looks as though he should probably fall over from the weight of it? Yes, I agree that would look strange.“

Beside her, both Anders and Fenris snorted with amusement, though Fenris was much quieter about it.

"That’s an Arcane Warrior trick, isn’t it?” Merrill chirped, to which Rashia nodded.

“There was a lingering spirit of an elven mage in a temple that my companions and I came across in the Brecillian Forest,” she explained. “It offered me its wealth of knowledge if I agreed to help it pass on.”

“That sounds… dangerous.” All heads turned to Fenris, who was quietly sipping a mug of what looked like wine, though it had most definitely been him who’d spoken.

Rashia nodded in ascent.

“Had the lingering spirit been a demon, yes, such a thing would have certainly killed me. But in the Circle we are trained to recognize the difference between the helpful and malevolent denizens of the Fade, so I knew what I was dealing with and how best to handle the situation.” Then Rashia smiled sheepishly and added, “What I was not prepared for were the three days that followed that where I could only think and speak in elvhen, which made communicating with my companions a rather… interesting challenge for a little while.”

“Oh, how fascinating!” Merrill commented. Then she proceeded to ask Rashia a question in elvhen that Rashia responded to in kind which left her blinking a little afterwards, stunned.

“I only sort of understand what I just said… it’s a very strange thing. I have all these words in my head but I don’t _really_ know what they all are or what they mean. I suppose it isn’t such a terrible price to pay for being able to train my body to wield a blade with magic. However, I must be honest and say I don’t use it for that purpose anymore, since I’ve been using Starfang after all these years.” She eyed Anders again once more, shrugging a little.

“It couldn’t hurt to pick up the skill again if you still remember how to use it. I know it’s probably been awhile.”

“I wouldn’t mind a refresher course,” he replied, “and a halfway decent blade to work with. It would be nice to be able to have a skill to fall back on should the templars decide to come raiding my clinic after you leave.”

“It was my hope to have your clinic sanctioned,” she groused bitterly, “so that something like that doesn’t happen…”

Anders merely fixed her with a tired look as he poured himself another shot of Aqua Magus.

“You and I both know the Templar Order better than that Rashia. Sanctioned or unsanctioned, they’re going to do whatever they want. I’m… I’m glad you’re trying, though. Maybe they’ll actually listen to you, you know, what with you being the Hero of Ferelden and all…”

Across from her, Sebastian sat up straight and stared at her with wide eyes, while Fenris shuffled a bit in his seat and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh they’ll listen,” she replied cheerily as she glanced at the new cards she’d drawn. Her suits were shaping up pretty nicely now, though it was hard to tell how some of the others were doing. Not knowing everyone’s tells was quite the challenge… especially the dwarf. He was harder to read than Sten had been when their little group of misfits had started to play cards on the road at night.

“If they know what’s good for them that is,” she finished, laying down her cards and downing the last of her glass before refiling it as Anders had.

“But enough of this doom and gloom, I’d like to play some cards, please.”

“Here, here!” Marian crooned in agreement, holding up her mug of ale. Rashia raised an eyebrow and glanced in Anders’ direction, who shook his head.

“It’s an act, I promise you. It’s a very good one, though, as far as hiding one’s tells goes.”

“You seem to be hiding yours well.”

“The drink is helping, I think. I have a good feeling about tonight.”

Rashia nodded. “So do I. But enough chatter, let’s play.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

Fenris watched the proceedings from behind his cards for a few rounds, even managing to win one from beneath Isabela.

It was strange, having the mage’s commander in their group. And yet… she seemed to fit right in, sitting next to him and being friendly with everyone (even himself!), though she was careful to steer away from certain topics that involved the Chantry or mages in general. She liked talking about Anders, whether it was about their shared time in the Circle or what he’d been like as a Warden, she continuously revealed bits and pieces about the mage to the rest of them, which never ceased to be amusing for some.

As for the mage himself?

Anders.

He was different tonight; laughing and smiling and… Fenris frowned, trying to remember a time when he’d seen the mage do these things before.

Had he ever?

…not in all the time they’d known each other? That couldn’t be right.

“Good evening, Fenris. Apologies for interrupting your thoughts… but I just had to know what that intense expression was all about.” Rashia was leaning back and away from the rest of the group now, having opted out of the next few rounds like Fenris had done. He did that sometimes when he got too drunk to hide his tells, though he doubted that the female Warden had opted out for the same reason.

“You weren’t interrupting much,” he grumbled, keeping his voice light and level out of habit.

“You’ve been staring at us all night,” she commented dryly, “though I suppose that, because it’s Wicked Grace, such a thing isn’t all _that_ unusual. Still… you’ve been studying Anders more than myself, and I would’ve paid much more attention to me so that I could learn _my_ tells, not his. I’m the outlier here.” She paused as fixed him with an expression he couldn’t quite read, but he could see the curious glint in her eyes as she asked her next question.

“Why study Anders so… intently?”

Fenris was quiet for a moment as he sorted through his thoughts. He knew from his other conversation with the Warden Commander that she would wait however long it took him to formulate his response and while normally a person’s stare made him uncomfortable; hers did not. Hers wasn’t an assessing stare like that sort that reminded him of his days in Danarius’ service, it was askant but focused. Attentive in a way he found he didn’t have words for.

“The mage… Anders,” Fenris eventually began. “I have never seen him truly smile. Or laugh. Normally his tells are… transparent. He loses often. However tonight he has yet to make a single bet that he has lost. I find myself wondering what has changed, and why.”

He watched the mage – _Anders_ – play with the orange tabby in his lap.

The cat had a name, did it not? Ser… Ser something.

Rashia gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement at his answer and joined him in examining her fellow Warden.

“My presence here probably helps,” she replied, a touch of breathlessness and despondency lingering in her tone. “He always felt safe at the Vigil with the other Wardens around. I think, even when I left him alone, before I had to leave and everything… everything changed, he felt safe there and he was able to… I don’t know. Be himself. Or learn how to be himself.”

Fenris listened to her words until the deep sadness of them drew his eyes from Anders to Rashia. She, in contrast, was calm and collected, her posture was loose, but dignified. And yet Fenris could detect hints of concern, fear, and frustration there, though he couldn’t discern the source of those things.

“I think he’s learning to do that again. In a way, they both are. But I can’t be his lover again; I can’t stay and protect him by keeping him in my bed. Perhaps I never should have done that to begin with… but I was younger then, and in a way, I needed him just as much as he needed me.”

Fenris sensed that there was a great deal of things that were going unsaid with this conversation, and while he wanted to know what they were, Fenris wisely let them be and decided to ask about something else instead.

Something he had been desperately wanting to know about since his last conversation with Rashia.

“Mmm. Earlier today you said something about his…” –here, he paused to consider his next word– “… _passenger_ being a separate entity when you first met them. I was wondering if you would offer an explanation for that.”

Rashia chuckled, a soft, low rumble of amusement.

She took another sip of her drink, setting the glass gingerly on the table. After a few moments, she settled herself more comfortably in her chair and eyed him carefully while a smirk played at the edges of her lips. 

“I hope you don’t have anywhere to be for the next hour or two,” was her only response. He gestured at their surroundings and raised a single eyebrow in her direction. “Does it appear to you that I have more pressing matters to attend to?” Another wry chuckle escaped her, and her smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “Very well. I must warn you, however, that the tale I am about to recount for you may sound at times outlandishly fantastical and practically impossible. I must also declare that I am not in the business of spinning such drivel about things that have happened to me personally, for the bards and storytellers do enough of that already. With that said now, I think perhaps a bit of a preface is in order… to set the stage, so to speak.”

She took another sip of her drink, set it down, and began to do just that.

 

* * *

Rashia began by telling Fenris about her first meeting with Anders.

“Actually, it wasn’t truly my first meeting,” she corrected herself, “but I didn’t recognize him at first when I saw him–he was wearing these awfully tacky Tevinter mage robes and he had his hair in a ponytail.” 

Fenris glanced at Anders, eyeing the bit of hair the mage had tied back, presumably so as to keep it out of his eyes while he worked.

Rashia noticed him staring and shook her head.

“No, it was longer back then. A full ponytail. There were a few stubborn hairs near the center of his hairline that always refused to stay tied back, but for the most part he had it all tightly bound and out of the way.” Fenris glanced back at the mage again and tried to picture it, but found that he could not. This too, Rashia seemed to sense, for she laughed and said that she was glad he’d cut it to this length instead. It suited him better, apparently.

She continued her introduction by briefly describing his conscription and joining, giving mention to a dwarf –Oghren– who had been one of her companions during the Blight and had decided to become a Warden himself. They both survived their Joinings (at this, he asked her what she meant by survived, though she merely gave him a look that told him it was likely a process she wasn’t at liberty to share) and that eventually they were joined by a noble turned thief, Nathaniel Howe.

“You conscripted a man who tried to steal from you?”

Rashia snorted and chuckled darkly. “During the Blight, I traveled with an Antivan Crow who tried to kill me when we first met. Admittedly, he did a poor job of it on purpose because he _wanted_ to die, but that’s neither here nor there. As for Nathaniel, I killed his father for helping Loghain sell out the elves of the Alienage to Tevinter slavers, among other things. I figured if the only thing that the man did to get back at me for that was to try and steal some of the Howe family heirlooms –which were his to begin with– from Vigil’s Keep during a darkspawn siege, it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea to conscript him than have him hung for his crimes.”

She fixed Fenris with a deeply intense stare.

“It would have been such a waste to let good talent like that slip through my fingers, and we were short so many Wardens anyway. I couldn’t afford to be picky about the people I conscripted. I apparently still had pockets of darkspawn to deal with and not many people on hand to deal with them.”

And some of those darkspawn talked, apparently. 

If Fenris hadn’t listened to her earlier words about how she didn’t make a habit about weaving embellishments into her personal accounts, he might have laughed at her audacity and asked exactly how much drink she’d consumed during cards. As it was, she appeared to be very careful how much of her precious Aqua Magus she’d consumed over the course of the night and at the moment she was probably the least drunk out of everyone at the table (which was saying something, considering that Anders was usually the only sober one at their weekly games).

Anders… who appeared to be flushed with the heat of the alcohol he had also been careful to consume, though his care had apparently been designed to get him just drunk enough for it to be a quite pleasant and pleasurable experience.

Hmm. He might actually ask the mage how he managed that sometime…

But Fenris had to tear his attention away from the mage so that he could pay attention to Rashia’s tale, and how –with only herself and three fresh Wardens in tow– she had to pack up after attending to the concerns of the arling’s nobility and figure out what the hell to do next.

“So of course I did the most logical thing: I went to the cursed swampland. Well, first I went to the city so that I could find a clue that would lead me to the location of said swamp, which was the last known location of one of the Wardens who had previously left Vigil’s Keep before it was attacked. I had been hoping to find him and bring him back to the Keep so I could have at least one Warden with some experience there to look after the place…”

“I assume this venture did not go as planned.”

A sharp, bitter bark of a laugh slipped out of Rashia in a rush.

“Understatement of the age, that.”

This cursed swampland was a place that the Amaranthine locals called the Blackmarsh. According to Nathaniel Howe, there had once been a village there a long time ago, a little settlement that lived off of the fruits of the marsh it was built on. But one day the village was thriving and the next… it was gone. No one went near it anymore, calling the area cursed.

“And I can see why they would,” she said, her gaze trained on some spot in the distance as she appeared to remember something that clearly unsettled her. “The veil was so thin in that place, even thinner than some places here in Kirkwall… there were little tears all over that place, just bleeding Fade energy out into the world. Every moment we spent there felt less real than the next that even Nathaniel and Oghren were starting to become affected by it, and dwarves aren’t usually affected by the Fade by virtue of being cut of from it as they are.”

Fenris felt his skin crawl just hearing her describe the place, and it made his brands itch from imagining it. 

“So… where does…”

“Where does Justice fit in? Well…”

She told him about finding the corpse of the Warden Kristoff, and how they were ambushed by the talking darkspawn from before. It had been a trap designed by someone this particular darkspawn (who called itself The First) only referred to as _The Mother_. It then used an orb of some sort to draw everyone in the immediate vicinity into the Fade.

“As in, physically?” Fenris asked incredulously. 

Rashia frowned, and after a moment, shook her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, it could have been possible I suppose, given how thin the Veil was in that place, but… I have my doubts.” She described a series of events that followed where she and her companions explored this strange Fade-marsh. Strange apparatuses were being guarded by demons, which were slain on sight.

“Later, I was able to use these to help close the tears in the veil when we returned to the waking world, so it turned out that running around freeing them from the control of the demons had been a good thing after all.”

“How fortuitous. You and your cousin seem to share that same proclivity for stumbling upon the solutions to your problems…”

Rashia’s smirked at him in response to his comment.

“It must be a family trait. But, I digress. That wasn’t how we escaped… no. Do you remember that village I mentioned before?”

“The one that seemingly disappeared overnight?”

“Yes, that one. Well, we found it. Or, well. The memory of it, such as it was. But the spirits of the people trapped there were very real indeed.” Fenris couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow again in his curiosity. “Why do I get the feeling that blood magic was involved in all this?” 

“Because you’d be right. Some places in the world tend to be naturally close to the Veil, but even if the Blackmarsh had been such a place when it did still exist in this reality, the tears wouldn’t have existed without… an outside force acting upon it. And as far as I know, there is only one sort of force than can tear the veil as such.”

She fixed him with a knowing look, and he nodded his ascent.

“It was some time before we reached the center of the village,” she told him, “after a process of slogging through some crypts which I won’t bore you with the details of, but that–that is where we met Justice for the first time.”

“Really? Doing what? And… did it look like anyone in particular?”

Another smirk tugged at the edges of her lips. “Is that a hint of curiosity I detect there? Hmm.” She shrugged, taking another sip of her drink before continuing.

“It was trying to seek justice for the villagers, of course. That’s what spirits of justice are supposed to do. And at the time, Justice appeared to us as a warrior in armor, with a helmet covering the face. It… _sounded_ male, but of course that could have been from the influence of the villagers, trying to seeing in this particular spirit the antithesis of the evil that had brought them there; their Baroness, who in life had been a blood mage, as you correctly assumed.”

This Baroness, having taken offense at her charges for trying to attack her in her own home, tore the Veil and dragged them there with her, trapping them there for what would have been all of eternity…

“…if not for this Spirit of Justice who was trying so hard to help them win the freedom they so desperately desired, even if it was only freedom from eternity itself. I think they knew…. that their physical selves were long since dead. All they wanted was release. Release from that plane of existence which the Baroness was so keen on keeping, even though she too was long dead, and it was only her spirit that was trapping them in the Fade against their will.”

“So how does this story end?” Fenris asked, half on the edge of his seat with trepidation of an outcome he was certain he could foresee, and yet half of him quivered with fear that the villagers might not have gotten their happy ending after all; especially with a blood mage involved.

“It ends with the Baroness using the First to sunder the veil and return to our plane of existence… as a Pride Demon. However, in doing so, she pulled all of us through as well, including… Justice.”

Fenris frowned.

“Did Merrill not say that… that spirits cannot exist outside of the Fade?”

“And she would be right. Both demons and spirits require hosts if they are to reach across the veil to touch and interact with this world. The difference between the two, at least according to Chantry law and most magical texts on the subject of the Fade is that demons are too fascinated with the tangible, unchanging nature of our reality to return after performing whatever tasks are asked of them.  
  
“Spirit healers like Anders and myself are the ones that are the most aware of this distinction, because that is how we are able to develop such advanced skills in healing that few other mages outside of the Creationist school of magic can master; we reach out to those spirits to help us facilitate those healing processes and then they leave us when the job is done. They have no desire to stay. But Justice… Justice had no say in the matter.”

“It still needed a host,” he pointed out.

“And there was a perfectly empty corpse right at the spot where we came back through… at the place we had first been ambushed,” she shot back cooly.

Fenris felt a shiver run down his spine.

“It didn’t–”

“It didn’t have a choice in the matter,” Rashia reiterated. “And by the time we dealt with the immediate threat –the raging Pride Demon I mentioned earlier– all of the tears in the veil had been repaired and a Spirit of Justice was stuck in the corpse of a Grey Warden.” 

She sighed deeply, rubbing her brow with one hand in her frustration.

“I apologize, I did not mean to sound so accusatory,” Fenris offered.

Rashia glanced up and nodded in his direction with a tired smile. Fenris noted that her earlier poise had faltered a little, and he realized that he was seeing a part of the Warden Commander that few others probably did.

“I know. And I apologize for snapping at you. It was unworthy of me.”

Fenris didn’t know what to offer that in response so instead, having remembered their conversation back in the mansion, he asked, “What happened then? After all, the corpse was possessed after the Baroness pulled everyone through, not Anders. Did you ever learn from him how that occurred?”

Rashia’s gaze shifted to fix on Anders, her lips pursing as her brows furrowed in apparent concentration.

“Yes, but not in great detail however.”

Her shoulders fell and her expression turned distant and wistful.

“He told me that things were fine after I left for Wiesshaupt. For awhile, at least. And then Commander Stroud arrived to take my place until I returned, and after that things slowly went downhill, apparently. Stroud put several recruits through the initiation process without checking with my seneschal first as I had instructed, and one of them had been either an acquaintance or a colleague of a Templar who had ended up dead in a scuffle some months previously.”

“I take it Anders was involved? Again, I do not mean to accuse...”

Rashia sighed, but sat a little straighter in her seat as she turned to address Fenris again. “He was, but not in the way you would think. Anders was my conscript, and by law the Circle no longer has any hold on him. But Ser Rylock,” she hissed, gritting her teeth and clenching her hands into fists, “ _she_ ignored that and tried to arrest him again anyway. I was well within my rights to defend him.” She relaxed, but her voice was considerably quieter when she added, “It’s not my fault that she ended up falling on the sharp side of my blade. Repeatedly. Honest.”

She shook her head and shrugged.

“Either way, a former Templar who somehow knew or suspected the truth of what happened to Ser Rylock took and survived the Joining with the intention of removing Anders from Vigil’s Keep. What Anders told me that followed was that while he was continuing our research to find a way to send Justice back to the Fade, he and the spirit grew close. He worried over the fact that Kristoff’s corpse wasn’t going to last long enough for him to find a solution to the problem... and the former templar, Rolan, must have picked up on that, because he took them out on a patrol one day with a few other Wardens that never returned to the Vigil.”

“What happened on that patrol?”

Rashia shook her head. “This is where things get complicated. My initial reports described the scene as “bloody, grotesque, as through a man with horrifying strength had torn each body limb from limb with only their hands and teeth”. Only one body remained intact, though it was charred beyond recognition. However, it was wearing a scarf.”

Fenris grunted. “Why is that significant?”

“Because it was this tacky golden yellow sort of thing with cat faces stitched into it in blue thread. I had given it to Anders as a gift. Not knowing anything else but what was told to me in the reports, I assumed that the corpse had been his.”

“Ah. I see. So the corpse was...?”

“Kristoff’s, yes. And when I asked why he left his scarf... he told me it was because he doubted that the Wardens would let a possessed mage stay within their ranks. He’d rather let the others think he was dead so that he wasn’t followed.” Rashia’s brows furrowed just a hair closer. “But... I saw the sketches of what... what remained of the patrol. I even spoke to one of the Wardens who had helped put the report together. I know that there is more that Anders isn’t saying on the subject, though I don’t... I don’t know _why_.”

Upon closer examination, Fenris could see tears glistening in the corners of Rashia’s eyes, though he was unsure whether they were tears of sadness or frustration. Fenris thought about her words, and he recalled some of the things he’d seen abominations do during their first few moments in the world...

“I think you know what happened. There is only one thing that could have caused such a scene as the one those reports described.”

The way she closed her eyes and straightened again told him that she _had_ known that, but it was what she said next that baffled him the most. “Of course that’s what happened. I’m not blind. It’s the fact that he didn’t tell me that’s what happened that bothers me.” She turned to study Anders again, and it was strange to see him laughing and smiling while his commander (who was doing neither of those things at the moment) watched him melancholic stoicism.

“I thought he trusted me,” she whispered, and her words were followed by a sniffle and a soft sob. He watched as she tried desperately to stop herself from crying and only half succeeded. She managed to stifle the sounds of her sobs but not her tears, and he had no doubt that she was grateful for the dim lighting of their little corner in Varric’s suite.

Fenris didn’t know why, but he felt something in his chest ache at the sight.

“I’m... I’m sorry.”

Fenris found that the platitude was all he was able to offer, and that too made his chest ache with the added bonus of being frustrated with his inadequacy at being able to comfort someone. And yet, it did seem to help, for a few moments later she was able to wipe her tears away and regain a semblance of her earlier composure.

“No, no, you’re fine,” she told him quietly, glancing into the empty glass she’d picked up before setting it back down. “I loved him. I came back to find him apparently dead, Justice gone... only to learn later from a cousin I didn’t know I had that he was alive and well in one of the most dangerous cities in all of Thedas for a mage to be, why wouldn’t I be upset about this?”

At this point, Rashia didn’t bother to keep the bitterness and derision from her voice as she spoke.

“I fear that, for all of my efforts here, it will all be for naught. Every day I find myself growing closer to outright declaring his clinic as the headquarters for this rebellion of his... pah!  _“The Wardens are not to be a political force of any kind”_ my magical ass...” She shook her head violently to clear it.

“So you agree with him that mages should be free? That the Circles shouldn’t exist?” Fenris challenged.

“I won’t lie and say that it’s done me a world of good,” she replied, leaning towards him and doing her best to keep her voice low so the others didn’t hear. “I don’t remember what my mother’s voice sounded like, or the sight of my father’s face. Since the age of six I was taught that my magic is a curse and that my very existence is a sin. Those things didn’t used to bother me, but they do now and I hate that I don’t have the courage to do shit about it but _he_ does. He, a man who remembers his father and mother because he was twice my age when he was taken to the Circle, who knew what it was like to be loved and then had his rights to that life stripped from him like a–”

She cut herself off then, her expression suddenly frozen and her eyes wide with fear. She sat back, and she took several long, deep breaths to calm herself before she continued.

“I’m sorry. That is not a road I have any business going down. Especially not when I, a mage, am speaking to you, a elven former slave.”

A few more moments of silence passed, and Fenris sensed she had more to say. Epitome of patience that he was, he waited, and when she was ready to finish speaking, he was not disappointed with her final statements.

“I do wish that mage children of future generations would have the ability to have the life that my cousins have had, but without the fear of being caught and dragged off to a place where they will never again see their parents or indeed even the light of day, or feel the kiss of rain on their skin, or a gust of wind ruffling their hair. I do not believe that young mages should go without an education, for our skills do indeed have the ability to kill no matter how young we are when they manifest.”

She smiled, but it was a sad, fragile thing.

“I set fire to my father’s favorite rug by accident. Anders set fire to his father’s tool barn. It seems to be a pattern for some of us, setting fire to things. So... I do not believe that such skills should be left unchecked.”

“I do not believe that mages should go unchecked.”

“That’s understandable. But if you’re asking if I have a solution to the Circles... I don’t. And I don’t think Anders does, either.”

She turned to glance at the aforementioned mage.

“But it’s not like he could abandon it now even if he wanted to. Tell me, do you know how spirits become demons?”

“They... they can do that?” Glancing at Anders, the thought of that happening in a public place like this made a sharp thrill of fear lance through him. Rashia seemed to notice this however and was quick to address Fenris’ fears.

“For the moment, Justice is in no danger of that. Healing the poor and impoverished of this city helps, because it allows Justice to still help address the injustices of this city, but what doesn’t help is the fact that Anders has to hide to do it because he’s a mage, which...”

“...which reminds him of the Circle and that it is the reason his lover is dead?”

Rashia blinked at him, stunned.

“How do you know that?”

“I pay attention to things. I wasn’t present in the Chantry that night because I hadn’t met Hawke then... and I learned a great deal about Marian and her companions while I was still figuring out if I should trust her or not. I am also not blind to the fact that the situation in Darktown is a result of what the Viscount is doing, or not doing rather, and that it is the Knight Commander that holds the strings the Chantry uses to puppet his office with, which is yet another thing that I doubt Anders can ignore because of the parties involved.”

“Hmm I see. Well, I... I believe I’ve told you everything I know about the Blackmarsh and what happened afterwards.”

“You didn’t tell me what you thought of this... Spirit of Justice while it was occupying that Warden’s corpse.”

Rashia grinned, and this time her smile was actually genuine. 

“It was... almost amusing to watch, in the beginning. It harassed Anders for keeping Ser Pounce-a-lot because it thought that keeping a pet was a form of slavery, and at the time Anders had no interest in the freedom of all mages, merely his own, something which bothered Justice to no end. The fact that some alcoholic beverages are called “spirits” irked Justice as well, among other things. But over time, Justice grew fascinated not with the unchanging nature of the mortal world but with the beauty it had to offer, and for a time that worried me.”

“Because you thought it might become a demon,” he supplied. Rashia nodded.

“Yes. But it did not. And even now, Justice appears to still care for those things, though it is difficult for Anders and Justice to properly communicate.”

“And why is that?”

Rashia shrugged. 

“I don’t know. The only other person I know who was in possession of a Fade spirit was host to a Spirit of Faith, not Justice, and I never asked her if she was able to communicate with it. For all I know, that just might be a consequence of a Fade spirit and a mortal being occupying the same living body. But I think Anders fears that he has corrupted Justice with his anger, which I honestly don’t believe that he has...”

“What, because he still looks like himself? Abominations come in many forms.”

“Considering where you come from, I’ll take your word for it. But I sincerely believe otherwise, having spoken to the spirit myself just the other night.”

Fenris watched her sink back into her chair as she watched the mage bask in yet another victory. “Perhaps you might be right for the moment,” he conceded, “but who is to say that you won’t turn out to be wrong later down the road?”

“That is a worry of mine,” she conceded in return, an admission that genuinely surprised him. “But as much as I wish that I could address that worry, I know that it isn’t within the scope of my powers any longer. All I can do is have his clinic sanctioned as a Warden outpost to monitor potential spikes in Blight activity here in the Free Marches and pray that my word alone keeps him safe.”

“...I could do that for you, if you wanted.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and Fenris knew from the smile that slowly spread across Rashia’s face that his startled expression must have been something to see.

“Why do you think I asked you to watch his clinic? Who better, after all, to keep an eye on a possessed mage than a former slave from Tevinter?”

A few moments passed before he managed to formulate a reply.

“I... I hope to do not disappoint.”

“I don’t think you will.”

And that was when the Warden Commander excused herself from the conversation to rejoin the others for one last round of cards. After a heartbeat or two of introspection, Fenris decided to join them. He certainly had quite a bit to think about, and a tavern was probably not the best place to do so... that, and he might as well try to see if he could pull a win from underneath the mage.

It turned out, strangely enough, that he could.

And all the mage said in response was, “Good game, Fenris!” Fenris hoped that the flutter in his chest was a reaction to too much wine and not because of the way the mage's smile made him shift in his seat while Rashia grinned at him from over the edge of her drink.

Yes, the tavern was a terrible place to think.

 

* * *

Fenris came back to Anders clinic the following morning, a bag of food over one arm. It was early, because the lamp was unlit, but Fenris could hear the mage shuffling about on the other side. 

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he heard Anders calling out after he’d knocked on the clinic doors rather sharply with the flat of his gauntlet.

Eventually Anders opened the door, and Fenris noted that he wasn’t wearing his hair up or his coat on... or a shirt, for that matter. Fenris felt his face flush as Anders blinked at him sleepily, reaching up to rub his neck.

“...Fenris? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Pleasure? Fenris stared, stunned. He held up the bag.

“I brought breakfast,” was all he managed to say. He hoped he’d brought enough, after seeing how much stew he’d been able to put away last night with Rashia footing the food bill. Anders raised a curious eyebrow but said nothing, gingerly taking the bag from Fenris and looking inside.

“Oh!” Anders exclaimed brightly, and suddenly the mage’s face was transformed with a grin of pure delight. “These are those stuffed rolls, aren’t they? You know,” he went on, ushering Fenris inside, “they make them with fruit, too. Different sorts of berries, and apples.”

“Apples?” Fenris found himself asking, before he stopped dead in his tracks.

“...mage.”

Anders didn’t respond, probably because he was busy humming a rather lovely little tune to himself as he pulled out the food from the bag, setting each roll aside on a blanket he’d laid out.

“Anders.” Fenris said his name, louder and with more force. 

“Yes, Fenris?” Anders asked, still busy with the food.

“I wish to know what happened to your back.”

Anders stopped moving, and his shoulders visibly tensed.

“...I’m afraid you’ll have to ply me with something better than stuffed rolls if you really want to know,” he replied, his voice barely above a low whisper. Fenris grunted in response. “There’s more, at the bottom of the bag.”

And then Fenris watched Anders pull out the container of madeleines, holding them gingerly in his hands as he turned around to face Fenris.

“I see. How did you know about these?”

It was difficult to discern the mage’s reaction from the unusual level tone of his words, and the thoughtful expression of his face didn’t help much either.

“Your commander mentioned that you liked them the other day when she told me to ask you about how long you spent in solitary confinement–”

“Over a year.”

“What?” Fenris’ voice was barely a whisper.

Anders looked up at Fenris then and smiled, but this was different than the smiles he had shared with the group last night. In fact, it reminded him more of than sad smiles that Rashia had been inclined to that night, only for some reason, on Anders’ face it made Fenris’ heart ache all the more. 

“I spent over a year in solitary confinement. Although... it wasn’t always quite so... solitary.” 

Fenris felt his blood run cold. 

“How are you still...” “Sane?” “ _Functional_.”

Anders chuffed a little, then sighed deeply. “Perhaps that is a better description, isn’t it? After all, what sane person becomes and abomination and then comes to Kirkwall?”

“A person desperate to see his lover again,” Fenris answered. Then he promptly bit his tongue. Damn him. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut around these mages lately? Anders, to his credit, looked properly stunned.

“How did you know that? I don’t think I even told Marian that...”

Fenris shrugged. “I pay attention to things. Like the fact that your commander also mentioned that your Karl used to make madeleines... is that why you like them so much?”

“Yes, it is. Would you.... would you like to share them with me?”

Fenris stared, and Anders had to clamp a hand over his mouth when a laugh escaped him. “I’m... I’m sorry, Fenris. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just...”

“Yes I would like to share them with you. If only to make certain that you eat the breakfast I brought you first.”

Anders grinned and raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Rashia put you up to this didn’t she? Maker, that woman... well, I suppose I’ll eat some of these. They smell absolutely delicious. Have you eaten yet? You should have one if you haven’t. One of these days I should buy you an apple one because I know you like them...”

And he went on and on like that for some time, and for whatever reason, Fenris couldn’t seem to find the mage’s incessant prattling annoying, at least when he was talking about food and making adorable kissing noises at his cat.

...wait. Adorable? No. That was impossible.

Then Fenris glanced over at the mage, who smiled at him gleefully, turning Fenris’ insides to mush as his heart definitely skipped a few beats.

Alright. Perhaps it was a little bit possible. Just a tiny bit.

 _Fasta vass_ , this mage was going to kill him one of these days with that smile.

**Author's Note:**

> So many feels. 
> 
> Fenris finds out he likes it when Anders smiles, and Rashia is trying to deal with going through the stages of grief all over again, knowing she'll have to leave Anders eventually. 
> 
> At least he has his cat back.


End file.
